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Tommorrow Can’t Come Soon Enough for Me!

When MAYAN SECRETS will be live! at Samhain Publishing.
“Your ten minutes are up.” Tyre kept hold of her wrist and heat seared up her arm as he rubbed his thumb across her pulse. She felt the beating of his heart beneath her palm and pulled back. He was close enough to kiss. Close enough to feel his warmth, the smell of his soap and the kiss of Scotch on his breath.

Tyre leaned in another inch and ran his hand along her arm, both thrilling and terrifying her with his touch. He looked at her lips.

“I don’t think you want me to leave, Professor Twamley. I don’t think my ten minutes are up at all. In fact, I think you’re dying for me to kiss you. What a confused woman you are. One moment you’re terrified of me, the next…”

“You’re very much mistaken.”

“Am I? I don’t think so, but I’ll let it go for now, as I’ve more important business to attend to.”

Tyre turned away and reached for a worn leather satchel lying next to his coat on the couch. He pulled out a package wrapped in cloth and handed it to her.

Without looking, Troya knew, as if the explorer called her name across the centuries. Catherwood’s journal. Rasmussen had it. She sank to the couch and hugged the book to her chest. As she ran her hand across the fabric that encased it, the musty smell called to her, called her into the jungle, amidst the ruins, into the deepest recesses of her imagination.

“Is it real? You’re sure?” Her hands shook, and to her horror, she felt tears pool in her eyes.

“As real as I am.”

“Where? How?”

“At Uxmal, in the Northern Quadrant, the only area not completely explored. It looks like a dump, but I suspect it’s a small, rather ordinary Post-Classic building, probably a minor temple.”

“I don’t understand. Why would Catherwood have left his journal at the site? How did it survive?”

“Encased like a mummy, boxes within boxes, buried deeply. A few of the pages are burned, as if someone rescued it from a fire. I wasn’t looking for it, trust me. I have, at least for a short while longer, a permit to do some exploratory digging around that building. I decided to go down rather than wide, check out the stratigraphy first. We hit on this the first week. Shovel to metal, you could hear the find across the whole site. Thank God it was early, before the tourists and the guards started nosing around.”

“And you simply took it out of the country? This isn’t yours to keep!”

“I’m not an idiot! Damn, how else will you insult me tonight? Trust me, you’ll understand once you’ve had a chance to read it. You’d do the same thing, I assure you.”

“But it will deteriorate unless a conservator…” She lost her train of thought. All of her youthful fantasies of explorers trudging through deep jungles, of pyramids peeking out of the greenery, of unknown dangers and fascinating treasures—all started with one man—Frederick Catherwood. The artist, who drew and photographed antiquity over a century earlier, defined the mysterious past for several generations. His partner Stephens had written the text, but Catherwood brought it to life. Only a fraction of his work survived, the rest gone, presumed burned in a fire, or lost in the shipwreck that tragically took his life.

No one on the planet knew more about Catherwood than Troya Twamley. Her dissertation on his life and work had earned her a position at Hopkins and spawned a popular series of books for the general public on great explorers. Now Indiana Rasmussen was handing her the Holy Grail.

“May I?” A tear trickled down her cheek. Tyre smiled and inclined his head slightly.

“I didn’t come all this way for a drink. I won’t let you read the whole thing tonight. You’ll have to come to Mexico for that. But you can cop a glance.” He winked and Troya realized he seemed to truly understand what the treasure meant to her.

The cloth wrappings of the book released their musty smell more as she pulled away the layers, exposing a deep green leather casing, stained black over much of its surface.

The binding creaked as she opened the cover to expose a frontispiece sketch of a bearded man, sitting on a camp chair in the middle of a jungle. Troya caught her breath at the self-portrait and ran her palm across the page. An archaic, precise script, the one she knew so well, erased all doubt. She read aloud, and heard her voice crack. “Being the daybook of Frederick A. Catherwood, during his travels in the Yucatan, 1840.”

Troya glanced up at Tyre, who rested his chin in one palm and stared at her.

“I know of no other confirmed self-portrait of him. And I’ve looked, God, how I’ve looked.”

He smiled a bit more widely and nodded. Troya lifted the next leaf and cried out in glee. Her favorite spot in the world, the Pyramid of the Magician at Uxmal—a quick sketch only, with a few notes underneath and a date. Subsequent pages began the journal in earnest, and Troya began reading, but looked up to find Tyre reaching for the book.

“Your ten minutes are up, Troya.”

“No, please. You don’t understand…”

“I understand perfectly. That’s why I’m here. If you come to Uxmal, you’ll have all the time in the world to study it.” He pulled the book out of her hands and rewrapped it, tucked it into his bag.

“Extortion.”

“Precisely.”

He can’t mean this. It’s everything to me. I could call the authorities, Colin would know what to do. The Mexican archaeological service would skin him alive. Unless…unless SinJin Twaine arranged this somehow.

“What if I told the authorities what you’ve done? What you have?”

“And give up your chance to examine it before the Mexican archaeologists? Not likely. This is big, Professor.”

“I can read it here, tell you anything you need to know.” Just don’t take it away from me tonight.

“What did I ask you at the lecture? If I proved that the entrance to Xibalba is at Uxmal? It’s in there.”

“Tell me. I’m begging you.”

Tyre arched a brow. “I think I like the sound of you begging.”

“Knock it off. What’s in there?”

“Sex, torture, demons…the usual stuff.” His eyes flashed in amusement. He thinks you’re a frigid pill.

“You mean ancient rituals? Are you sure?”

“And a few modern ones. Some traditions evidently didn’t die out so easily. Catherwood found a little pagan love fest among the locals.”

“Nonsense.”

“At the place where Earth and Hell meet, he calls it. The rituals of Xibalba. I plan on finding that place.”

“It’s allegorical, surely you realize that? There’s no building, no entrance to the Underworld! Entrance to the Underworld? There’s no Underworld!”

“Are you sure? Your hero believed it existed, in three dimensions, not simply in sculptures and rituals and scrolls.”

“Then he was mad.” As mad as you.

“I intend to find out. You must realize how big this is. Think, Troya.” He sat next to her and grabbed her hand, chilling her nerves again, turning her breath shallow. “Even if we only find a tomb, a sculpture, anything to mark the spot that the Mayans revered as a gateway to hell. Imagine. I’ll share it with you. But you have to help me decipher Catherwood’s ramblings. I’ll need you at the site. Sometimes he’s a bit…”

“Obtuse? Yes, I know. I can’t tell you how many times I read certain passages, only to abandon them. I think it’s because some of the landmarks he used are destroyed. Or if what you say is true, that he thought he found an entrance to Xibalba, perhaps he was actually mad.” No, it didn’t make sense. The man was meticulous, steady as a rock. Perhaps not as precise as his partner, Stephens, when it came to the written word. But his sketches were impeccable.

“You’ll come? Tomorrow?” His tone grew urgent again, and Troya wondered if there was more to his plea than he let on.

“Tomorrow! I’m off to Greece tomorrow. I can’t change everything…” Oh my God, what the hell should I do? “I’m booked, have a villa, a manuscript to finish…on sabbatical…”

“The dig permit runs out in four weeks. You’ll have nearly an entire year in Greece. You won’t pass this up. You can’t.”

“You don’t even know me.” But he knows what this journal means to me. And that’s more than Mike understood after three years of living with me.

“You’ll come. We’re at the Hacienda Uxmal, across the road from the site. You know the place, of course.” Tyre slung his satchel over his shoulder, picked up his coat and headed for the door.

Panic swept through Troya. Don’t leave! She was simply desperate to see more of the journal, not the man, she told herself. But now they seem inexorably linked, exerting the same irresistible pull. I want more.

Who are Your Neighbors?

I was never a huge fan of spring, preferring blistering August temperatures, but this spring has been really beautiful so far. Went for my walk at lunchtime–I work near a canal and the towpath alongside. I saw several of my favorite birds–red-winged blackbirds. Something about them–plain with a flash of spectacular. And a piliated woodpecker–those are rarer. The geese have had babies, those were really, really cute. Painter turtles.

Where do you live, and what do you see when you go for a walk?

What I Heard at Romantic Times

Nothing. I didn’t go. I’m burnt out on gossip and goings ons and everything. But ferrets, I still like the ferrets. I’m more interested in writing right now.

What are you guys interested in these days that has not much to do with conventions and gossip, controversy, epublishing, and costumes?

Good movies? New babies? Baseball?

Read This Book!

So in my quest for reading material, I was pointed to the new “On the Prowl” series at Samhain, and selected, a little randomly, Tiger by the Tail. I asked Kaye Chambers, the author, to tell me about her previous titles. She wrote back: this is her publishing debut. She’d won a contest with another title, but Tiger by the Tail…yada yada. Huh?

All you shapeshifting fans out there–you’re all a bunch of loonies, really. This is about the fourth book of big cat shifting I’ve read, and I’ve mostly not liked them. (I actually spiked Dark Prince of Anfall with some of the loonieness myself.) When I started Kaye’s book, I thought “Oh, no, it’s all this weird big cat claiming choosing mating alpha bitchy stuff with rival clans or whatever you call them.” And that’s true, this book is that stuff. But it’s so much more. Or less. Or all of that stuff boiled into a tight, tight story with classic contemporary romance elements interwoven…

Wait, let me start over. I loved this wonderful, wonderful story. I’ve been such a scaredy cat myself over writing in the first person, but after reading this one, I’m going to try. Because a whole story from one person’s point of view really, really hooks you in, if done well.

Kaye’s voice is so different. I know, we hear that a lot, but it is. From page one “since my first run as a tiger at fourteen…”–I mean, how many people can get away with something like that and have it sound sensible? Kaye’s heroine is Sasha, Tiger Princess and heir not-so-apparent to the big cat throne. Initially reluctant to enter the complex world of big-cat “society” after being ostracized for so long, she eventually takes on her calling in a very plucky style. No one is going to accuse Ms. Chambers of writing a Mary Sue. You will simply love Sasha. You will want to be her.

Kaye carries the story from an intricate Medici-like political world into a very personal contemporary romance of the “Bodyguard” type. Cole is the hero, a wonderful strong fella and fellow tiger. These characters flow together beautifully, both strong, but with neither overbearing.

But wait, there’s more! There are big cat fights (between males), running with the cats (I want to be a tiger for a day–Kaye simply made the whole sensation of being a tiger and moving freely as one so appealing), mating with a cat (sexy and sensual without being in-your-face), and, of course, falling in love. As a human. Simply lovely.

What is this new genre, anyway? Why have we come to accept a story about people who can become big cats, describe their society, and wrap it in a traditional romance? It takes great writing. This is great, smooth, delicious writing. I refuse to believe it’s Kaye’s first published book. Nonsense.

I got to the last page and whined out loud. Where’s the rest? Next installment, please.

Correcting Improper Author Behavior

Clio here is a pistol, isn’t she?

I’m not a huge fan of authors behaving properly, cause what’s the fun in that? Go ahead, rant, attack, go down with the ship if you like. I’m in awe of the Andrew Dice Clays of the romance world–I don’t have it in me, neither the courage nor the inclination. And I simply don’t care enough about most topics.

I’ve written a few times about stuff that drives me nuts, but I thought I’d ask my revered colleagues (readers and writers), to add to a list of basic good author behavior.

So here goes, and this doesn’t mean I’m not guilty of committing the cardinal sins of online promotion:

1. Do not advertise using photos of your boobs. If you disagree, please tell me why. I would really like to understand this one. Why would I want to read your book because I’ve seen that you have cleavage? Most romance writers do have cleavage. Even some of the guys.

2. Don’t jump on a loop release day (everyone has stepped into this one). Don’t steal someone else’s special day, especially a new author!

3. If you aren’t published, don’t preach about publishing. It’s not that you aren’t entitled to an opinion–it simply looks kinda foolish. I’m not telling big NY authors about the publishing industry… I might do this kind of preaching on my own wee blog, but I know my readership well enough.

4. DO stand up for yourself if you need to. I recently called someone an a-hole on a blog for bashing Christians. It’s a fine line, but if your moral code guides you to draw a line, then damned the consequences.

5. Do offer to review your colleagues’ books, or to blog about them. Especially new authors.

6. Send a thank you note to anyone who reviews your book. Yes, the ones that hurt, too.

7. ADD YOURS!!!

Hey, Soldier, Wanna Free Book?

What can $7 buy you at Samhain Publishing? That’s the amount left on my voucher. I’m feeling the need to give and brighten someone’s inbox! So to enter this teensy contest, all you gotta do is watch my Mayan Secrets trailer (see the link top right on this page), tell me one thing you like about it (or if you really don’t want to win, one thing you don’t like about it), and I’ll draw randomly tomorrow. Also, tell me what book you think you’ll buy! (*I swears it, I’m picking randomly!).

Ready, set, go! And post your answer here )

I Feel the Need to Read

Looking for something…different. Doesn’t have to be a romance, just has to be intriguing somehow. Any recommendations? Sure, your own book would be fine to recommend. Just no clowns or cowboys, please.

It’s Africa Hot

I’m AWOL. If you’re reading this, you are really, really bored. I’m in and out of town while my mom is in the process of “going to a better place.” Which, of course, has nothing to do with one of my favorite movies, Biloxi Blues. Except that the mind does very James Joycean things when you’re a ping pong ball and one paddle is pain and the other is numbness. Right now, the trail of thought is that I’m AWOL from a writing world that no doubt doesn’t know I’m AWOL. And when I think of funny military things, I think of this movie. And Matthew Broderick complaining that Biloxi is “Africa hot.”

I’ll be back.